A Measurement of Resistance
by Archontor
Summary: The First Quell was a momentous moment in the history of the Hunger Games and of Panem. Out of it would form the beginnings of a rebellion. Long before the Mockingjay and before the second war a brave cabal of rebels will fight in secret to secure the future of the fight for freedom. OCxOC. Rated M for children murdering each other. Also swearing.
1. Chapter 1: Running From Election

Chapter One: Running From Election

It was the day of the first quarter quell. He remembered his mother and father telling him stories of the time before the games. Before things like this happened. They told them their own parents' stories of the time before Panem and the Capitol when people used to have a say in their government. It was an idea called democracy and apparently people used to quite like it. Sat on the side of his bed his stomach knotted at the prospect of the great return of democracy. He was so close. Aged eighteen he had one more year, one more Reaping to sit through before he could live out his life in peace and comfort. But this one would get him he knew, it.

He had seen it on the Voting Local-Net site that Mayor Phaze had set up. Every citizen of the district between the ages of twelve and eighteen had a page set up. Everyone could leave comments on each other's pages explaining why they should be voted for the games. Of all the boys he had perhaps the most labelling him as an 'agitator' as 'unproductive' as 'useless' and worst of all 'forgetable' as someone had put.

It was a sparse and inelegant room, much like many others in the District. The weak light of the sun forced its way through a near curtain of smog and finally through his thick, sealed window. Aside from a bunk-bed and a single one across from him there was little in the room besides a low, wide, metal wardrobe with a large projector unit on it. Off in one corner, however sat his pride and joy a design table purchased for an exorbitant fee and shipped all the way from the other end of the District.

Standing up, wearily, unsteadily as if the weight of his dread threatened to pull him through the hard linoleum of his floor he walked over to his easel. In District 3 they thought little of a single kid not even out of school trying to build anything that their greatest minds had not come up with. Looking at the incomplete swirls of a painting that would never be he couldn't help but see little more than regret as he looked at the sloppy lines and the not-quite-right colours. He wasn't a physics prodigy like Qwerty or a master chemist like Acey but he was a veritable genius at computing and engineering, but then so was almost anyone in the District, no he made the dubious decision of trying to become an artist in a place with no art. Just to make something, something truly unforgettable so that the middle child of the Ohm household wouldn't go unrecorded. He got his wish after a fashion.

As he stood there looking at the amateurish expression of a half-formed idea he realised that it was the sum total of his life's work. Looking at it that way it lost all the beauty it ever had and he wondered if it was worth fatally alienating himself just for some oil streaked across canvas.

He walked out of his room into the apartment's main corridor. Qwerty was waiting outside the bathroom, towels and toiletries in hand. He always was a bit of a peacock that way. And more often than not forget the 'pea' part of it. He was definitely going to miss that.

"Webber." He said with a bit of a nervous grin as he ran a hand through his dark brown hair. "Are you okay….uh you look a little tired." He said nervously. They both knew what was going to happen today, and they both refused to confront it. They'd suspected ever since the terms of the Quarter Quell had been announced but they kept avoiding it. They kept telling themselves that they'd do it later, kept thinking they'd have more time.

"I wanted to get my painting done." He said groggily. He wondered to himself if he had stayed up half the night more to get it done or to try and avoid lying in bed with his own thoughts.

"Did you?" Qwerty asked.

"No." He said with a heavy sigh. Qwerty just nodded and smiled. Neither of them really knew what that meant.

Their mother, Curie walked out; her curly, grey streaked brown hair wrapped in a towel and covered up in a thick dressing gown.

"Shower's ready, should be a little bit of hot water left." She said softly. Even with her face still wet the red around her bright blue eyes, presently bloodshot made it clear just how hard it was hitting her.

"You go, Webb, I can wait." Qwerty said as he moved out the way.

"Thanks." Webber added mournfully before he disappeared into the bathroom.

Looking in the mirror he studied himself. Every scar blemish and hair on the lightly tanned skin of his body. His decisive lack of musculature or of height was most prominent in his mind at the moment. He looked into his own dull green eyes as he studied his face. A few more blackheads and pimples than he'd like but he could see in it his mother's pointed chin, his father's high cheekbones, the same almond shaped eyes as both and his grandfather's pointed nose. He smiled at his own face. It would never wrinkle or mar, his dark hair would never grey, no matter what happened he would always be remembered like this. Not the worst look in the world he supposed.

He pulled on his usual attire, workpants a dull grey cotton shirt that used to be his uncle Ray's and his dark blue leather jacket, purchased in the market on his last birthday and never far from him since.

In the dimly lit, windowless corridor his sister saw him for the first time that day. "Don't you want to wear your best clothes?"

"Or what, they'll kill me?" he quipped.

At the breakfast table they ate quietly. That was not so unusual, the people of District 3 believed that at meal time you got to the task of eating and then spoke afterwards. But today they knew the silence for what it was. Fear. Their father, Atoll stared intently at the newspaper as he ate his nutrient-gel laced oatmeal. He had been quiet ever since the adults cast their vote yesterday. His mother did the same though whenever she thought he wasn't looking she stared at him. He'd never seen that look on her face. It was mix of that same loving face she always had, that mothers always had and the sort of face she made at their cousin's funeral. He could have sworn she had developed a few more grey streaks in her hair overnight. He looked down with a small grin as he remembered when he was just a toddler some-time around her 34th birthday when she found her first grey hair.

Breakfast itself was pleasant. Whilst Webber's parents made do with the same slurry as usual he and his siblings were treated. Scrambled, spiced eggs, synth bacon, and artificial sausages with a side of bread-cubes. He looked at it and in his mind imagined them as people of the Capitol dressed in the finest of finery and enjoying this sort of bounty, and more as a matter of course.

"Webb, I've got too many cubes, do you want some." His sister, Acey said as she slid them onto his plate. She was the youngest of them, at fifteen. But she took the chance to look at him and she seemed so haggard and so tired by worry that he almost forgot the cheery smile of their family clown.

The clock that sat on a chest towards the end of their room ticked towards the hand of eight.

Looking over his newspaper Atoll spoke, his gravelly voice a low, deep monotone. "It's nearly eight you…" His voice quickened and rose ever so slightly in both pitch and volume. "Have to go now."

"Of course, bye dad." Webber said. From the look they shared it was clear how final that was meant to be.

"Don't forget me." His mother said with a forced smile. He leaned over for a kiss and she pulled him down for the hard squeeze of a half hug that carried on too long.

His siblings repeated the same with less drama and joined him at the door. They pulled on their satchels and headed out the door.

"So… looking forward to class." Webber said as he tried to seem cheerful.

"Not really, Professor Nail still hasn't let me live down the time I missed the sub-scale resolution error in class." Qwerty said with a gulp. "How about you, Acey." He added.

"Not much, I already got my proposal formula in I'm just passing the time now." She said, staring straight ahead.

"Professor Bodhis said he's considering giving me a special exception for my coursework and Instructor Tsar said I can take a few extra combat classes on my free periods." Webber said.

"He got over your failure in the practical?" Acey asked.

"It was only a small fire. Besides he liked my circuit design." Webber replied quietly.

"Good, good." Qwerty said as he tried to shut down that line of conversation.

By the time they got there the heavy black clouds had turned into heavy black rain, water and sleet clogged with ash fell from the sky, much as they did on many other days. Qwerty had left for the Advanced Campus, and Acey had departed for the Introductory Campus. Walking down the main hall of the Academy's Intermediate Campus he felt as though he were marching to his execution. Most of the teachers looked at him with what appeared to be sympathy while the other students gave the oddball 'inventor' a look half way between pity and derision.

It was only today of all days that he realised how much he hated it. How he loathed the angular stone and steel architecture, the noise of the nearby factories, the eye searing brightness of the paint, the lack of windows and the way the fluorescent bulbs always made his eyes sting. In truth the thought that he had lived out his whole life seeing nothing but such ascetic architecture was more than a little bit depressing. It was also today that he realised how many beautiful girls there were on campus and how many were looking at him today.

His lessons were quiet, every time he would walk into a room he was faced with abject silence as people stared at him or tried far too hard not to stare. At the time of his combat classes he could feel all eyes upon him as he stabbed into dummies or sparred with his teachers. He quickly began panting and sweating, a presently regrettable lifetime of avoiding exercise was beginning to show. Everyone who took or taught the class knew that it was only there as a 'safety net' to help nervous parents tell themselves their children had a chance. The best they could do with their combat education was work as an engineer for the Peacekeepers and even then they hardly compared to students from the proper Career Districts.

After four combat classes he walked out of Campus exhausted. The Peacekeeper transports were waiting in front of the school. Their reapings always took place right after school finished, it seemed appropriate to give them one last chance to see their friends.

The Peacekeepers stood out in the black rain their pristine white armour now dripped with it in oily stains across the synthetic carapace of their armour. They maintained perfect positioning and posture, unspeaking and with faces hidden behind full-face helmets. Stood there covered in black and streaks of tarnished white they looked like the spectre of death made manifest. And today they were.

The inside of the bus smelt of sweat and the many layers of synthetic fabric that Peacekeepers commonly wore. He sat alone, in silence at the back of the bus. Looking out the wire laced, bulletproof window he saw one of his classmates, a prick named Cobalt making a neck slice gesture at him with a morbid grin. A raised middle finger was his only response. The entire journey he gazed at the metal grate of the floor and his scuffed brown work boots. He fiddled with his thumbs, ringing his hands over and over again until they reached the so called Hall of Justice at the outskirts of the District away from the noise and mess of the factory's and laboratories near the only bit of green in the district.

It was a colossal hall of sturdy stone architecture designed to protect the Mayor and the District's most important people and objects no matter what. In a huge courtyard in its long dour shadow, under a glass canopy they stood assembled. Along with the rest of the older children he was marched to the front as though it was just any old reaping.

Normally Qwerty would be too old to attend the reaping but as part of the Advanced Campus' top five students he was given the honour of attending along with some of the Academy's officials. He was dressed in his finest clothes, a deep black suit with slate grey highlights and a dark blue tie. Like a hawk he watched Webber from the stage.

He looked to Acey. She was a mess of tears sobbing whilst her girlfriend Hypatia comforted her mournfully. On either side of the courtyard the minor's voting machines were set up and Peacekeepers directed children to them. The screens were large and bright designed to make it clear to all around them that people would see their choice. As he stood there waiting for his turn he saw his name come up far too many times. The others wouldn't look him in the eye as they walked away from the machines. Iso, the orphan from Sector 7 especially could not bear to look him in the eye. He was the close second in the voting polls, he knew that if it weren't for Webber he might well have been first. Cobalt just ran his thumb across his neck again.

"Hey Cob!" Webber yelled from his voting station as the name of his vote came up in bright white letters. 'ZYCLON, COBALT' he then flashed a big toothy smirk more akin to a snarl.

Their Escort was a tall, fat middle aged man with his steely grey hair brought up into tall thick spikes. As was presently the fashion of the Captiol his skin was dyed a pale, faded and distinctly inhuman blue. He wore bright, iridescent contact lenses and he possessed lightning bolt shaped streaks of black lined gold dyed into his well- groomed beard. Even Qwerty's expensive attire looked dull compared to the bright silks and sparkling patterned fabrics on his mostly purple suit with shining black swirls in his double breasted blazer, he had certainly dressed to impress the electronically minded people of Disctrict 3 lined with some sort of micro circuitry that lit it's lining up in colours that shifted gently with his every movement. Threads of white gold and colourful gems hung from his neck and wrapped around his fingers. A metal band similar to a set of laurel leaves sat on his head. On the pedestal the Reaping bowl bore only two cards, one blue and one pink.

Before he took the names he issued his speech. "My name is Nemo Midas, your escort. This Quarter Quell is intended to remind you why this system was established. Your parents and teachers can tell you why, but this will show you. The people of the Districts determined that they would live in anarchy and disharmony just to decide how they made their machines or harvested their crops." He nearly spat derisively into the microphone. "They found the order and decisiveness of the Capitol to be inferior to democracy. Look to the people you voted for, let them look at you and see who ripped them from their homes." He paused whilst all eyes fell upon Webber and the female tribute. "That is what your ancestors fought for, to decide who lives and who dies. Now we have shown you how worthless that choice is. This quarter quell reminds you and your elders why you live with the Hunger Games over your head. It is your own fault, you made it happen."

The audience stood there in a stunned silence, some were mortified, some scowled at him, and he glowered down at them all with hateful, shimmering eyes regardless.

"And now, the tributes." He proclaimed briskly. "This year's tribute girl is Ricin Chrome."

Walking up to the stage confidently and with a smile whatever fear Nemo had managed to press into them evaporated as Ricin stepped up, waving and smiling. Proudly she displayed her bald head. Webber had heard of her, the plucky little sick girl of Sector 1 but they hadn't met.

Shaken, Nemo quickly regained composure. "And now for the tribute boy." He said ominously. He paused, fingers running the crisp edges of the card for a second as he held the crowd on baited breath. "Webber Ohm."

Everyone stepped away from Webber as if he might explode. He certainly felt as though he might. With a heavy sigh he looked back up and cast his gaze across the rest of the crowd with baleful accusative eyes as if he were wishing each and every one of them dead in his place with every glance. He walked heavily and harshly, his thick boots shuddering the metal steps up to the stage.

He shared a teary nod with Qwerty. Now that he was closer to Ricin he saw the extent of her illness. Once tan skin was now streaked with a sickly pallor. Her lips were thin, chapped and colourless. She was tall; at least six foot three and rather thin though as she nervously balled her fists he could see impressive coils of sinewy muscle flex below the rolled sleeves of her funeral black shirt. She turned and gave him a quick, warm smile. The simple act of oddly timed kindness shocked him as surely as if she had walked across the stage and hit him.

They were marched through the doors of the hall of justice by a pair of Peacekeepers each. They sat in separate waiting lounges.

Unlike every other part of District 3 it was a colourful affair with bright red wallpaper and warm wooden furniture. A map of the entire District hung on the wall as well as smaller photos of the District in its former glory. Sat in the most beautiful room he'd ever seen he closed his eyes, put his head in his hands and cried.

His mother came in through the door first and wrapped her arms around him. Pecking him with kisses Curie cried into the back of his neck.

She blubbered and squealed "My baby." And trailed off into intelligible gurgling before she made way for Atoll.

"My boy." He said, hot tears of his own welling down his face. "My boy. My boy. My boy."

Qwerty and Acey stood towards the end of the room, Ace was crying into his side whilst Qwerty's mouth just gaped as if struggling for something to say.

"Say something." Curie rasped as she held onto one of his hands.

"I don't know what to say, mom, I don't know what to say." He answered back, his voice quaking as he shuddered into more tears.

"I-It's okay, if you don't want to say anything you don't have to, we'll just stay with you until they come."

"We're so sorry this happened, Webb." Qwerty finally managed, mumbling it without any of his usual confidence and bluster.

"Don't be." He said forcing a small weak smile that managed to quickly die out.

"I know we don't say it enough." Ace began, choking back more tears. "But you really were a good artist." She half gasped as she realised what she said. "You **are** a good artist. We're proud of you."

"Why do they do this? Why to children? Why not convicts or old men?" Atoll said numbly as he sat kneeled by his son.

A pair of peacekeepers walked in. "Time's up, come on tribute." She said behind a faceless helmet as she walked over to Webber.

Instinctively Atoll stood up with a heavy snarl and bore down on the female peacekeeper. As he crossed the room a single baton strike knocked him to the ground. Groaning he spat out a loose tooth in a mouthful of blood. Curie came running towards him and took a similar baton strike across the face. The other Peacekeeper pressed Qwerty against a wall hard enough to knock a painting off the wall and shatter the glass over the frame.

Ignored Acey took the opportunity to sneak up beside her parents' assailant. As she readied to bring the baton down again Acey bit into her hand hard enough to draw blood.

"You little shit!" The peacekeeper yelled as she backhanded Acey to the glass specked ground, whirled around and then drew her pistol on the teenage girl. Startled Acey backed away slowly her blue eyes as wide as saucepans.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down, I'll come just don't hurt them." Webber said as he stood up with his hands raised.

"Good." The peacekeeper said, holstering her pistol.

Nemo was waiting for them at the Train station. The rain had finally stopped pouring and the sun was able to shine down upon them. Being miserable trumped being miserable and wet he supposed.

"I heard the peacekeepers from my room. Are you okay?" Ricin asked as she squinted in the sun.

"I am yeah. My parents are probably still picking their teeth up, my brother has a cracked rib and they pulled a gun on my sister. But I'm okay."

Stunned for a moment Ricin looked down at the ground before she responded. "My parents were so happy I got in. I hugged them, kissed them, said my goodbyes. Just in case."

Webber just sated at her as if he hadn't understood a single word out of her mouth.

"Everyone aboard the train." Nemo said with a rich smile. "It's not a long ride to the Capitol but we're expected soon."

With a sidelong glance they wandered into the train. On the outside it was a sleek and speedy bullet train but on the inside it was a crisp and well-tended microcosm of the Capitol. The smell of sizzling lobster, a smell he had only ever experienced at the 17th Reaping festival wafted through from the dining cart. A rich rosewood table laid out with four places sat in the middle of the richly furnished room.

Stood at the far end of the table was a man in a pristine white suit with a black sash under his blazer.

"My name is Lieutenant Prasutagus Fuse; I am an instructor for the Peacekeepers of District 3. Since our district has no Victors I have been assigned to fulfil that role to the best of my abilities." He said in the short harsh barking of a military man. Underneath it though Webber could notice the tell-tale accent of a Dictrict 3 citizen. Not the educated, precise tones of Engineers like him and his family, or the whispering, Capitolesque drawl of Designers like Ricin and the other Chromes but the harsh, husky growl with the same elisions as those of the factory workers like his father's family. He was a fearsome figure, about thirty, well-muscled and bearing a withering burn down the left side of his jaw and neck. And then he ate a bread-cube.

"I understand Corporal Nail is going to need stitches, your sister's pretty fierce." He said as he ate another cube.

"And you, Ricin, I must say you might just be our first real shot at a Victor."

"Well thanks!" Webber quipped as he sat at the table.

"Don't take it personal, kid." Fuse groaned as he settled down into his chair and produced a file of papers. "You're not a bad pick but I've skimmed Ricin's records and it says she was the head of the girl's combat class at the Academy, she took after-school classes in martial arts and she's taken out or reserved books on survival and first aid for the last nine years. You're not exactly a Career, but you'll do." He said briskly.

"Well I've been doing some combat classes this year." Webber said defensively.

"Not really the same thing, champ. Ricin, would you explain why you did all this."

"When I was eight I was…diagnosed with cancer. It's terminal." Ricin took a deep breath, sat across from her Nemo just watched, almost morbidly. "The medics were able to slow it down and keep me in good health for now but the Capitol's the only place that can cure it. I was going to train till my eighteenth year and then volunteer but I decided it was better if they voted me in this year rather than vote someone to their death."

"That's a story that'll get you sponsors." Nemo interjected. "But what about you Webber, do you think you'll have anything that'll get us some sympathy?"

"I'm… an aspiring inventor, I wanted to change the world, and no one ever took me seriously, um…. I was a bit of an outcast at the Academy and I guess this'll be my shot to show everyone back home what I can do." He managed uncertainly.

Fuse and Nemo exchanged looks. "That's not bad. Most years I'd call it a pretty workable story but they're all going to be outcasts and oddities this year.

"Well can we at least try to make me something worth talking about, I'd rather not die."

"Webber, look at me." Nemo said his shimmering eyes alight with purpose. "It's my job to do just that and trust me I will do everything in my power to get you, both of you to being the talk of the whole damn Capitol."

"Webb." Fuse said with an undue air of familiarity, as though he had known him his whole life. "For my part I've turned worse men into top-notch peacekeepers and I'm going to give you as much training as I can."

Ricin's eyes went wide as she saw the outskirts of the capitol through the window behind them. "It's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful." She said as she stood up and peered closer at the great white domes, the silvery skyscrapers and the wide, glass-walled apartment buildings. "I'm going to live there."


	2. Chapter 2: Introduction

"Best get ready to meet the crowd, Webber. This is the first they'll see of you, so make a good impression." Nemo said as he stood up.

As they gently pulled into the station a thronging mass of people dressed in the most ridiculously gauche clothing possible greeted them. Webber did his best not to scowl at the saccharine cavalcade of colours and patterning and forced a toothy smile.

Ricin on the other hand lit up in excitation, waving and grinning for the crowd. Stepping out onto the platform all eyes were on the tall bald girl in the black shirt and skirt. Meanwhile Webber tried to mug for the slightest bit of attention as he waved almost violently at the crowd. Even amongst such a pretentious populace as this they were clearly aware of how fake his cheer was, largely dismissing him.

Almost immediately they were marched to their stylists. Their clothes were removed, taken to parts unknown and forced to wear something akin to a medical gown.

"Not too bad, just a standard scrub and skin sealant, add a bit of definition. Maybe shape the eyebrows and we should have him looking presentable." One stylist said as he ran a showerhead over Webber as though he weren't even there.

"I think we can do better, something to make him stand out." Nemo said, standing over him. "Something to help him stand out."

"What about say, a scar or a tattoo." Webber suggested. "I was thinking we could play up the rebellious part somehow."

"I like it." Said the stylist Nemo nodded his agreement.

"How about a gear, I'm thinking Persian blue, right in the middle of the forehead." The stylist said.

"Excellent idea." His companion said, wheeling over a heavy mechanical arm not unlike those of District 3's production lines. A series of lasers scanned the contours of his face before he knew what was happening.

"Hang on now, maybe that's a bit much." Webber said fidgeting nervously. He went to sit up before a white gloved hand shoved him back down.

"Trust them, Pulcher and Decoris are some of the best stylists in the Capitol." Nemo said with a small smile.

"No offence Nemo but that's about the worst endorsement I can imagine."

"Yeah well it was your idea." Nemo said as an aerosol attachment smeared the top of his face with numbing spray. His eyes felt like cotton in their sockets. Half his face was paralysed and he could numbly feel a laser pluck yanking away the hair of his left eyebrow. A fine tipped pen traced the line work of his design with mechanical precision. Satisfied Decoris approved the design. In minutes it had drawn the intricate outlining designed to mimic circuitry in a shining black ink with white highlights. Next it had added the vibrant blue to his face quickly and efficiently. Finally the arm used small injections and topical sprays to heal the skin and reduce inflammation.

"Sit still and stay calm, the anaesthetic will wear off in a few minutes, then that'll hurt like hell." Pulcher explained before they walked over to Ricin's area.

"No hair to wax that saved time. We've fitted her with artificial fingernails and toenails to accommodate her condition and we've used cosmetic skin dyes to even out her tone and reduce redness around the eyes. I've also tattooed on some eyebrows to help her emote. "Decoris explained as she showed Nemo a full list of treatments.

"Tell me sweetie what kind of wig do you want?" Pulcher asked as she sent for the standard selection.

"It's been so long since I've had hair I don't know what I'd do with it." She said with a soft smile.

"Don't give her hair at all." Nemo suggested. "It tells her story for us, no one in the Capitol will be able to see a bald person and not think of her."

"He's right." Decoris announced. "It's a bit boring but he's right."

Ricin tried not to frown as she heard her chance at hair was fading. She had gone so long without it with the hope that when she was reaped she could move past it, inside and out.

In the fitting rooms Webber felt shockingly at home. Shapes of metal and power tools waited along the walls of the room on racks.

"What's going on here?" Webber asked as a pair of assistants pushed him about into a tailoring pose with his arms out. First he had his apron yanked off leaving him in nothing but his underwear.

"Don't worry we aren't doing nudity this year." She said as she tossed him a black and blue bodysuit with iridescent highlights and a pair of high black boots.

"Pulcher and I decided that a more intimidating appearance was needed, rather than the cheerful costumes we give you most years." She said as a few men and women held up an angular segmented breastplate. It was a silvery metal decorated with a cold xenon blue light that shone from just over his heart. A thick belt laden with random boxes of blinking electronics supported a blue kilt fitted with silver scales. Matching gauntlets and grieves as well as other miscellaneous pieces of metal were mounted on him until he was covered from head to toes. Last of all they slotted on a heavy, finned helmet. Threading the clasp on his chinstrap he was ready to walk out to his chariot.

Ricin was garbed similarly though they had neglected to grant her a helmet to show off her most distinctive feature. As well as an exceptionally exaggerated breastplate to add further features apparently. A red cape hung from her back and a long red tabard hung over her front.

He took a moment to look at the other Tributes for a moment. The twelves were dressed like stylised miners, black jumpsuits and yellow masks with a flashlight for a third eye. The Nines were dressed in silky golden robes embroidered with blades of wheat. The elegant and opulent tributes of District 1 were clad in pinks, purples and reds trimmed with fur and feathers. The District 6 children were clad in black leather with straps and cords and buckles, distinguished from fetish wear by an aviation helmet each. The others were less impressive, even farcical, especially the tributes from 4, draped in strips blue and covered in netting as if they had walked out of the ocean and bought it with them.

With some difficulty they clambered onto their chariot. The tributes from District 2, clad in bone white imitations of a marble statue turned and looked at them with unbridled hostility. Ricin nearly recoiled aghast whilst Webber stared back balefully, resting his metal clad hands against the rail of his chariot as if prepared to vault over it at them. Though of course he dared not.

The artificial charioteer built into the car of the chariot yanked the reigns slightly as the chariot ahead pulled away.

They came out into the City Circle as the sun crested behind the training centre. To either side of them hundreds of timpanists drummed away onto sleek and stylish drums as they passed. A thronging crowd cheered as their faces came up on huge relay-screens around the side of the historic boulevard. Responding Webber forgot his situation for a brief moment and flicked up the visor of his helmet and waved to the crowd as best he could despite his finned pauldrons. As they neared the Presidential Platform he caught his first look at President Reeves, almost immediately his smile dropped and he was left looking there blankly for a half second before he was turned back around.

They arrived at their apartment in the tribute floors. There were four guards stood outside their door most likely to dissuade any foolish notions of an escape. Or worse, he had heard of a tribute from District 8 that tried to kill their roommate for a leg up. It was spacious and well appointed. Not only was it as large as the Ohm Apartment's entire floor it was decorated with achingly opulent furniture and top of the line architectural design, a work of art you could walk through. Though it seemed rather lacking as far as actual art was concerned with no sculptures or paintings or photos decorating the walls.

"I uh…like your tattoo Webber." Ricin said with an awkward grin as though she was forcing herself not to stare.

"Um…thanks I like your… eyebrows." He said awkwardly. She made a nervous giggle and shied away.

"So, do you like your quarters?" Nemo asked as he walked in behind them.

"They're uh…they're something else." Webber said as he looked around the main living room, craning his long, thin neck like a heron. Behind the counter of a mini-bar a man stood watching them passively. Behind the door leading into their kitchen a few other people busied themselves preparing what appeared to be an almighty feast. They were brightly dressed in primary colours though unlike many of the Capitol's citizenry they were simple, practical and undecorated.

"Hello, who are you." Webber said politely.

His eyes went wide for a moment and he cocked his head but did not speak.

"They're avox , the voiceless. You don't talk to them and they can't talk to you." Nemo explained.

Webber whirled around surprised "Why do you do that to them?" he asked in a mix of confusion and disgust.

"It's their punishment. Prometh over there violated trade laws, your chefs Linus and Sagitar were convicted for tax evasion; I think one of the maids committed treason. Webber simply eyed him with growing disgust, his mouth beginning to hang agape as if he were preparing to say something. "Don't worry they're not dangerous, anyone with a spine would have just chosen their death sentence." They looked at the floor cowed as he recounted their crimes. In Prometh's eyes he could see the weight of his punishment as he looked to his bar repeatedly polishing the onyx stone of his countertop to a high-gloss rather than take Nemo's abuse.

"Now then, if you're done talking about the help I'd like to discuss strategy." Fuse said as he walked in from one of the back rooms. He had a cocky smile on his face as he swiped a neon green beverage in a tall, thin, sugar lined glass. He took a quick sip of the cloudy fluid and then flashed a toothy green stained smile.

"What do you suggest?" Ricin said idly as she tried a sip of the green drink. The look on her face as she spluttered it down was somewhere between sitting on a pin and being hit in the face with a bucket of water.

"Well…for a start never drink that again." Fuse quipped with a self-assured chuckle as he took the glass off of her. She noticed that the left side of his mouth couldn't form a smile that did not look more like a pained imitation one. "But seriously sweetheart when you go down to training you're going to want to impress the Careers without showing them everything. If they think you can help them they might make an Alliance. That's going to end when there are no more threats so you'll want to strike first with something they won't expect and then run like hell."

"I'm pretty good with swords daggers and axes, I guess I could let them think I'm more of a spear girl." She answered.

"Good, how are you at engineering." Webber asked.

"I'm passable but I put most of my time into training." She answered.

"Then act like you don't know a transistor from a transformer. If we're lucky there'll be some tech they won't expect you to use. And if we're really lucky there'll be some tech they want me to use." Webber explained. He felt more than a little proud of the impressed nod Fuse gave him.

"Good thinking Webb, you told me you took combat classes, what did you focus on."

"Sword and shield, I'm not bad with a mace either." He answered casually.

"Well that's less useful." Fuse said frankly. The prideful smile faded on Webber's face faded. "It's hard enough getting hold of a sword in the games I think they have maybe one or two shields in the cornucopia. And a mace might cut it in sparing matches but they're slow and sloppy, you take the time to get a killing blow a Career 'll cut you down sure as shit."

"Well, what am I supposed to do!?" Webber answered back defensively. They both knew the answer and they both didn't want to face it.

Die.

Theia Leaf walked down the halls of the Presidential Palace surrounded by more peacekeepers than she had ever seen in one place. Even by the hedonistic standards of the Capitol it was lavish and proclaimed the importance of its occupants. Though it was richly appointed it was also stodgy and to their gaudy eyes even subtle. The vibrantly coloured and patterned walls were littered with salvaged art from before the dark days alongside masterfully crafted sculptures. Squads of avox walked the halls tending masterfully trimmed shrubbery and polished the black marble floor back to a flawless shine after her.

In front of a huge white wooden door the width of the corridor was taken up entirely by Peacekeepers. Stood in front of them was a small thin man in a simple, practical suit made distinctive only by a single white rose. He clutched a clipboard tightly and stared at her pensively as he checked his watch every other step Theia took up the long corridor towards him.

"Miss Leaf." He said politely with a thin measured smile. "You're late." He added, his smile dropping instantly.

"Call me Theia, everyone does." She said with a small smirk on her glossy emerald lips which matched with her hair. "And what can I call you?"

"Administrator Snow." He said slowly, his cold reptilian eyes fixing upon her. "You don't seem to understand that President Reeve is a rather busy woman, she won't pass much of her time entertaining a sports journalist, no matter how popular." If Snow could kill with a look Theia would almost certainly be dead by now. Rather than be cowed Theia met him with a slightly sultry half smirk that proved entirely ineffective. Amidst the pageantry of the Capitol and the grandeur of the Presidential palace this cold, uncomplicated man seemed almost inhuman.

"So….can I go in now." Theia finally answered flippantly.

"Right after a final security check." Snow said, for the first time cracking an almost snake-like smile that managed to drain all confidence out of Theia. With a click of his fingers a trio of Peacekeepers descended upon her.

A pair of them took her by the arms and marched her nearly off her feet into a small side room. Every pocket was checked over twice, she was scanned with all manner of instrumentation and had every single item she bought with her picked over in excruciating detail.

President Reeve sat quietly at the end of a long mahogany table backed by tall narrow windows that allowed a nearly blinding amount of the midday sun in through the open shutters. Reeve's silhouette cast a long shadow across the table along with a cloud of smoke coming from a pipe Reeve was nursing.

Rather than be phased by the obvious attempts to disturb her focus Theia walked in, head held high and casually adjusted her hair with a great wide smile forced across her face. As she took a seat at the far end the shutters on the windows tipped to a close revealing President Reeves more clearly.

She was a slightly heavyset woman in her fifties with a drastically oversized nose that she had chosen to keep despite the near ubiquity of cosmetic surgery. Her hair was still, primarily, a vibrant copper colour though fading and greying as she grew older. She was dressed formally and plainly in a primarily blue and black suit.

"Miss Leaf, I hope the Administrator didn't give you too much trouble." She said with a groaning almost grandmotherly voice undercut by the persistent growl of a habitual smoker. Though she tried his best to hide it the mean spirited smile shattered the quasi-maternal image she had attempted to cultivate.

"A bit more of a delay than I would have preferred, I have a lot to do today."

"Well, then let us get underway and you can get along to….whatever." Reeve said shrugging off the slight jab.

Theia nodded and produced a small notepad and pen, her electronics being confiscated at the door. Reeve was surprised that anyone in the Capitol would still use paper to write, apparently Theia had come prepared. "As you can imagine the first thing my readers wanted to know is how you made your choice for the first quarter quell."

"The Hunger Games are still relatively new. It was vital to show them that they are ultimately responsible for this state of affairs if they are to accept it. However abstractly." She answered almost immediately. Theia tried her hardest not to roll her eyes at such an obviously prepared statement; she had briefly overheard the president at a party once, stammering and pausing through a conversation.

"Thank you for that comment, madam President. Has a date been decided when the Hunger games will end?"

"That's a state secret Miss Leaf." She responded plainly.

"I had to ask." Theia replied with a little smile. "Can you at least tell me how many more cards there are for future Quarter Quells?"

"We have enough." Reeves answered elusively.

"Very well, what do you think of the new gamemaker, Cleave Nadir? Can we look forward to somewhat more…survivable arenas than the late Misses Mori' works?" Theia asked moving on, at this point she was just trying to ask a question soft enough to get a real answer out of her.

"Well, the Hunger Games aren't exactly meant to be safe." Reeves said with a small smile. "But yes, you can expect many more tributes to lose to each other rather than the elements." Theia scribbled her answer down quickly and tried not to appear too disgusted with the thought of what basically amounted to televised infanticide.


End file.
